


Smells Like Sulfur

by sifshadowheart



Series: Frey of Asgard [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chuck Lives to Meddle, F/M, Frey is Not Amused by Gabriel Impersonating his Far, Frey of Asgard Universe, Handling Problems by Killing Things, M/M, Multi, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-07 00:08:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15206501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sifshadowheart/pseuds/sifshadowheart
Summary: At Draco's behest, Frey jumps universes to take a vacation and get his powers under control after his father Loki fell from the Bi-Frost.  Too bad his infamous "luck" struck again, leaving him as a glorified babysitter for the Winchester brothers as their universe begins another Turn.  Slash and A/U.





	Smells Like Sulfur

** Smells Like Sulfur **

**_A Frey of Asgard Story_ **

By Sif Shadowheart

Note: MIT School of Engineering DEPARTMENTS & INSTITUTES

Materials Science and Engineering

*Mechanical Engineering

Nuclear Science and Engineering

*Aeronautics and Astronautics

Biological Engineering

Chemical Engineering

Civil and Environmental Engineering

*Electrical Engineering and Computer Science

 

Universal Technical Institute – Norwood, MA Programs

Auto

Diesel and Industrial

…

_Vacation, noun, an extended period of recreation, especially one spent away from home or in traveling._

_…_

**Prologue – A Much Needed Vacation**

_“You need to go away.”  Draco told him after several long moments.  “Take a vacation somewhere.”_

_“Go away?”  Frey asked arching a brow.  “When I just got back and my father’s missing?  Nice try.”_

_“I’m serious, Frey.”  Draco insisted.  “I’m not talking about visiting your relatives on Jotunheim or keeping an eye on that Earth.  I mean finding a world where time passes so fast compared to here or there that you can live a lifetime and not miss a moment.  You need to get some distance from all this, some perspective.  Have you even tried to get a handle on your new powers or are you hoping to sulk it out and hope for the best?”  He asked acerbically._

_Frey scowled at that reminder._

_“I’m telling you go.”  Draco insisted.  “Now, while you can.  You’ve said yourself that your father is alive but that no one can find him right?”_

_“No, they can’t.”  Frey sighed.  “Lady Magic might be able to but trying to find one of the primordials and ask for a boon isn’t exactly the wisest of ideas.  Wherever he is, it’s somewhere I can’t reach him, or even get but the faintest hint of his being alive.”_

_“Then?”  Draco asked.  “What’s the issue?  You go, get your powers under control and your head on straight and then you come back and are ready to go kick ass the second you get a ping on his location.  You won’t do anyone much good, let alone your missing father, if you’re too strung out to fight.”_

_“Maybe.”  Frey sighed.  “Maybe you’re right.  It just feels…”_

_“Like you’re giving up on him?”  Draco hazarded a guess, snorting in derision.  “No one who has ever seen you with Loki would believe that.  He’s your dad.  And you love him.  He would be more upset over you lapsing into atrophy than he would over you going to some universe and kicking ass or getting a degree in underwater basket weaving.”_

…

Staring around him at the small, single-occupancy dorm-room on MIT’s campus – dorm-living a requirement for all incoming Freshmen – Frey snorted.  Apparently Draco understood him better than even Frey thought.  Though, his former-lover would be _appalled_ at the idea of Frey living in what amounted to one-hundred-square feet of a strangely-antiseptic-smelling box, not including his attached bathroom that was _just_ large enough for a half-sized shower, a sink, and a toilet.

Still, it was better than having roommates, he’d had enough of that at Hogwarts.

Going to college would be a good change from everything, ignoring that he’s about five-hundred-or-so years older – depending on how one counted – than most of the students studying at one of most-versions-of-Earth’s foremost technology-heavy colleges in the U.S. of A…not to mention a professor in his own right.

His first degree chain – up to a MBA thank you – was done mostly via distance learning due to him being a father and Lord in Wizarding Great Britain with a side of mythical heroism on some weekends.

Oxford made allowances for those sorts of circumstances.  Or at least they did when two of your three surnames were on buildings on their campus.  The Potters and the Blacks were legends even in muggle Britain on his home of origin.

He’d netted himself a double bachelors in political science and business before going for his MBA, all very practical for the circumstances of his birth…if you ignored that the circumstances of his birth _also_ made him a wizard, a sorcerer (yes, there’s a difference), first a godling then a god, a warrior, a hero, and most recently the Avatar of Chaos in addition to being a Lord and a Prince…in two realms apparently according to his grandmother Frigga who had undersigned his father’s conferring the title onto him as far as the Aesir were concerned during the few days he was the King-Regent, making Odin overturning it _very_ difficult.

Frey had also masqueraded as a double-doctorate, which was easy to pull off when the area of your expertise was supposed to be ancient Norse runes and Old Norse literature and your father was Loki, who’d been a fiend over Frey’s education.

But it was Frey’s most recent travels that had him donning an illusion to make him look like the fifteen-year-old version of himself (due to his eighteen appearing closer to twenty or older) and doing college all over again.

After gaining his immortality his father had taken him to one of the technology-based universes that didn’t have a magic-heavy base or anything really similar to the pantheons Frey was used to growing up under the aegis of Olympus and then being destined (and lately ascended) for the pantheon of Yggdrasil.

The things he’d seen there had blown his mind.

Technology, the things it was capable of and the sheer ingenuity and innovation of those who designed it was awe-inspiring to someone who’d been raised in a primarily magic-based and battle-based culture at Camp Half-Blood for all the tech that trickled onto the grounds.

Then while he was playing at being a PhD and investigating matters on Earth prior to the Wheel turning in the Yggdrasil and Universe Cosmic of his father’s people, he’d been shocked and impressed all over again with the creations of that version of humanity.

With that in mind and Draco’s demands that he “chill out and get your head straight” before he had a heart attack or fell into a depression, Frey’d sought out a universe that had a similar technology structure as Yggdrasil’s Earth, though it wasn’t yet as advanced due to the absence of a few key innovators like the Starks.

It was also (unfortunately) one of the universes under the dominion of the Nomad God…which usually ended in nothing but trouble because of His fuck-ups with the angels leading to demons and so on.

But for the sake of expediency, it had the right tech (almost) and time barely passed in both his pantheon’s universe and his universe of origin, he stayed even after he’d gotten a ping on his magic that he recognized from his early training trips with his father and grandbera as belonging to one of the Nomad God’s empowered creations versus his unpowered version of humanity.

Laufey and Loki were both extremely skilled in using their blood-gifts as direct descendants of Ymir to travel, hop, or jump between the various universes, realms, and realities in all their various permutations that made up the All of Existence as Laufey called it.

Both had been careful to teach him what warning signs to look out for – there were places even an Avatar as he’d become a few weeks ago shouldn’t dare to tread.

Universes where things had gone… _wrong_ for lack of a better way to put it, like the one his Far had taken him to in order to learn the dangers of worship.

Flipping open his pocketwatch, not the original, that which he’d started building so long ago in his Runes class, as he’d given it years ago to his father, but a second more advanced and complex version, double checking how time differed between where he was and where he’d need to eventually return.

He’d easily be able to stay decades, anything less than a century really.

Glancing at the course catalog he gave a bright grin as he eyed the couple of degree programs that seemed the most interesting – as well as a few offered off-campus at the local tech-schools that would dove-tail nicely with some of his _other_ interests picked up over the years.

He had _more_ than enough time to learn and practice the intricacies of human technology, even if it wouldn’t be _exactly_ the same as the tech of his chosen home, it would give him a basis.

Like learning Latin and then extrapolating from there to pick up the other languages that borrowed from it or were based on it.

Frey could barely wait to get started.

After all, when you’re immortal, you have all the time in the world.

What was twenty years against the span of eternity?

Naught but a blink of an eye.

…

**_Smells Like Sulfur_ **

** … **

**Chapter One – Hi! My Name is Chuck.**

_October 31, 1985; Boston, Massachusetts; Supernatural Universe_

Frey had barely settled into his “vacation” at MIT/UTI when Samhain rolled around.  He’d flown through the entrance and placement exams, managing to cut out the core class requirements for his degrees and was splitting his time between two different disciplines: engineering, and since his universe hopping had dropped him at the beginning of the tech boom, programming and systems information with the intention of learning the hands-on things he hadn’t picked up from one of his side-trips while running around with his Far at UTI.  His goal was that by the time he was ready to go home and search again for his father – however futilely – or even deal with the tornado of complete and utter _bullshit_ his Ascension had unleashed on his life, that he’d be able to understand the science and tech of his version of Earth.

And, well, build engines.

Loki had blamed – and likely would do so until the end of _time_ – Sirius for Frey’s love affair with engines and cars and motorcycles above all.

Frey falling – hard – and spending years living and loving a gear-head hadn’t helped.

But then…Dominic Torretto was hard _not_ to fall for, and in the end, it had only been Dom’s death that had torn them apart, an event that Frey often thought he still hadn’t recovered from.

He’d lost loves and lovers alike before – any being over a century who _hadn’t_ simply wasn’t interested in those things.

Dom…he’d been the first real _test_ of Frey’s immortal heart even over and above Christopher.

And honestly…if Loki hadn’t come physically to retrieve him, Frey might have chucked it all and followed Dom into death the way he’d followed him from one adventure to another during the dynamic man’s life.

But Loki had, reminding him of all the _other_ reasons Frey had to live – not the least of which were his children in another universe.

Now Loki was gone.

And Frey was left to pull himself together, even if that meant burying himself in engine schematics and electrical diagrams.

Tech in his new home – and this world – was so different from everything else he’d dealt with – both much less advanced than the futuristic tech in some universes and so very advanced compared to the combined hero/wizard communities – that it might as well be to him what magic was to a muggle – completely incomprehensible and unable to be used since he doesn’t have the right set of skills or abilities to do so, though he was capable of basic use of his phone and computer in the Universe Cosmic with further manipulations occurring by merging his magic with a physical interface like his phone, as he’d done to “set” the now-mortal Sif’s identity.

That was untenable to Frey, to rely so on his magic when he knew his mind was capable of learning the science, so he was going to use his forced time-away from his homes of both origin and heritage to address the situation.

Even if, in the end, he still used his magic to smooth the way, he would at least know the _hows_ and _whys_ of what his magic was doing…and there would be less risk of accidentally frying a system if he knew what to watch out for.

As for Samhain, it could always go either way for Frey.

As “Harry” it was one of the worst nights of the year.

But as Frey, it was one of the few times he could freely spend time with his father and Thanatos, as well as being a night for giving thanks and honor to his relatives that had died, giving him a sense of connection to his father James and mother Lily, even his ancestors that he otherwise wouldn’t have any visceral connection to at all in the face of his living relatives who were so often larger-than-life.

That said, it wasn’t with much surprise when Frey walked into his shoebox dorm room that he found someone – or something – waiting for him.

“Hi.”  The nondescript man said with a soft smile, his brown eyes shining.  “My name is Chuck.”

“No.”  Frey eyed him with amusement.  “No, it’s not.  Though I’ll accept that it’s one you go by at the moment, El-Shaddai.”

“Caught me.”  Chuck Shurley, also known as God or the Nomad God or a dozen other names, laughed brightly.  “Frey.  Newly Ascended god of the Yggdrasil pantheon and Avatar of Chaos.  And really,” he gave a self-effacing shrug.  “Anymore, I prefer Chuck.”

“Right.”  Frey sighed, setting his books down.  “You know, I’m sorry if I’m encroaching on your territory…Chuck.  But when I scanned this universe, I found no signs of you still being around or active at all.  Just your kids upstairs and downstairs carrying on while humanity remained as clueless as ever in one of your worlds.  Are you here to evict me?  Because I was just getting into the of Mathematics of Computer Programming and Integrated Algorithms.”

“Well, I could.”  Chuck studied the young god intently.  Even he, who tended to avoid the gossip from other universes, other pantheons, had felt the ripples from Frey’s Ascension.  All the major players in the sum of all things had, for one reason or another.

It was rare for an Avatar to be chosen.

Rarer still for one to be all-but created to the purpose, their life shaped from before their birth, the way Frey had been.

Two Avatars had been involved in the creation of Frey, two primordials had touched him before even the fates or destiny could lay hands on him.

Then he showed up in Chuck’s little corner of things.

Any deity would be curious under the circumstances.

And with the latest ripples he’d felt coming from the States, the taint that was thickening and the corruption taking over even his firstborn, Frey’s arrival seemed very much like a gift to a creator that was weary of sitting back and just _watching_ as his children tried to destroy each other but could no more take a side than any other parent in the middle of what – to him – was nothing more than a petty sibling squabble.

Or, you know, the apocalypse to everyone else.

“ _But._ ”  Chuck smiled at the surprise on Frey’s face as the younger god – a mere babe comparatively, even with his habit of universe-hopping like his father – started to realize that Chuck wasn’t there to run him out of Chuck’s universe.  “I can think of little harm that your presence will cause and can see the potential for much good.  You know of my son and daughter, and their own individual attempts at creation, yes?”

“If you mean Eve and her monsters, and Lucifer’s twisting of humanity to create demons, yes.  I do my research before I settle in anywhere or any _when_.”  Frey told him with a sigh, taking a seat on his bed facing Chuck who stood by his small desk.  “Some things stay pretty much the same across the universes.  Eve’s new, at least by that name and created by you, but monsters exist everywhere.  Sometimes their faces even reflect their… _tastes_ rather than looking the same as everyone else.”

Chuck hummed under his breath at that, tempted to ask how many, _if any_ , other versions of himself the younger god had run into in the past, but it wasn’t really the topic at hand.

And if he was reading Frey right, the Avatar would be hanging around for a while.

“You’re a father, right?”

“Yeah.”  Frey’s mouth twitched into a half-smile, pride shining in his eyes.

“How old?”

“Teenagers.”  Frey gave a soft laugh.  “Currently driving their other father and step-father up the wall.  But they’re good kids.”

“Then you might understand how children can wreck you and make you all at the same time.  Mine…”  Chuck sighed.  “I love Lucifer more than anything else in this universe.  But he’s caused me more heartache than most of his brothers and sisters combined thanks to the Darkness tainting him.  And _man_?”  Chuck groaned.  “I love them and regret making them every-other second as they are the best and the worst of me.”

“What do you want from me, Chuck?”  Frey asked, getting to the point.  Just because they were both immortal doesn’t mean they have to constantly circle subjects.

“I want you to do what you do so well.”  Chuck smiled.  “Protect.  Just keep an eye on things, and if someone or something starts preying on the innocent…I want you to stop them.  No matter who or what they are.”

Frey groaned to himself, scrubbing at his eyes.

“You want me to _babysit_.”

“Call it the price of squatting in my neck of the woods.”  Chuck leaned over and clapped him on the shoulder with a rather _un_ holy grin.  “Rent.  Just keep an eye out and try and keep things from spiraling out of control.  We’re in the beginning stages of a Turn here, much like your universe.  And as an Avatar of Chaos, you’re not prevented by any cosmic laws from interference.”

“Meddling isn’t exactly my shtick.”  Frey told him, holding in a pout that came through in his voice.  “Wrong god from my pantheon.  For one thing I have both my eyes.”

Chuck burst into laughter at the irreverence, knowing more than one of his children who would say the same about him.

“Rent.”  Chucked repeated himself.  “Price of admission, whatever you want to call it.  But if you stay here, all you have to do is keep an eye on Boston and the surrounding area.  I’m not asking you to take over protectorship of the entire world, Frey.  Call it a favor if you have to.  What do you say?”

Groaning once more, Frey nodded his head reluctantly, eyeing Chuck suspiciously.

“I thought you pride yourself on being a benevolent god.  What’s with the coercion?”

“Haven’t you ever read the Bible?”  Chuck smirked as he faded away.  “Old Testament.  Benevolence is only _one_ of my aspects.  I’m not above holding someone’s feet to the fire to get things done.”

Or wiping out an entire race if it was called for.

“Nomad gods.”  Frey snorted as Chuck’s lingered behind the god.  “Always with the vicious circles.”

“I heard that.”  Chuck popped back in with a mock-frown, smiling gleefully at Frey’s start of surprise.  “By the way, if you run into someone playing tricks and calling himself Loki, don’t take offense and smite him.  He’s one of mine: off limits.”

…

_May 28, 1991; MIT Campus, Boston, Massachusetts; Supernatural Universe_

“ _Another_ degree, Mr. Peverell?”  Frey’s guidance counselor arched an incredulous brow.  “You have already completed two degrees with us here at MIT, including your soon-to-be granted doctorate.  Is it your intention to complete the _entire_ course of offerings at our Schools of Engineering and Sciences?”

“As long as you’ll continue to enroll me, yes.”  Frey shot the “older” man a practiced smile.  “I want to learn all I can while I can, Dr. Lindstrom.”

“Admirable, Mr. Peverell.  However, you can understand the concerns of myself and your professors.  The pursuit of science and technology can be consuming.  We are concerned that you are letting it consume _you_ , Mr. Peverell, with your course load.  You take twice the number of classes as any other student, even our other _gifted_ enrollees when one takes into account your academic pursuits _outside_ of our walls.  We just want to make sure you’re not going to burn out.”

Frey laughed a little.  “I’ll be fine, Doctor.  I understand how it looks.  But I _do_ have a life outside of academia.”

…

“ _A life outside of academia_ , huh?”

Frey gave a wordless snarl as he tossed a pillow at his extremely annoying stalker who always had the _worst_ possible timing.

“Go _away_ , Gabriel.”  Frey complained.  “I hate it when you get the urge to _drop in_ without calling first.”

The archangel who masqueraded as Loki pouted at Frey’s bared back from where he was laying on his stomach in his Boston apartment.

“If I called first, you’d take off for a conference in Sweden or something before I got here.  Where would be the fun in that…for me?”

“You are so _lucky_ that Chuck won’t let me smite you, asshole.”  Frey muttered into the pillow.  “You _better_ not be planning anything in Boston.  You know it’s under my jurisdiction and I’m not in the mood to chase around after you for months until you get bored.”

“Awww.”  Gabriel pulled on the straw of his milkshake, making that annoying sucking sound which grated on Frey’s nerves.  Pulling out a bag of candy from nowhere, he shook it towards Frey as he sat up and glared at him.  “Milkdud?”

“What do you want this time, Gabriel?”  Frey sighed, accepting that he wouldn’t be rid of the pesky archangel until he humored whatever wild imagining had brought him to Frey this time.

Hopefully it wasn’t as idiotic as the screwing-with-priests gig that had brought them to each other’s attention in the first place.

“I just came to visit my pseudo-child.”  Gabriel grinning brightly, thoroughly enjoying the nasty look from his current target for mayhem.  Frey was so much fun to fuck with.  He’d probably be even more fun to fuck, but Frey had been firm – so far – with his no-angels no-demons policy.

Probably because creating a half-archangel half-Frey hybrid was a recipe for disaster…or awesomeness depending on how you looked at it.

Either way, Frey wasn’t wavering in keeping Gabriel at arm’s length, though he was kinda curious how he’d react to Lucifer, Mr. Morning Star himself.

“Bullshit.”  Frey snorted, snatching the bag of candy away from the annoyance and chewing on a handful moodily.  “And for the hundredth time, I’m _not_ your child, pseudo or otherwise.”

“Fine then.”  Gabriel gave a put-upon sigh, snatching the bag back from Frey.  “Word on the angel-wire says that there’s been an uptick in demonic activity around Boston College.  And as you said yourself, Boston’s your jurisdiction.  Thought you might like a heads-up.”

“Yeah.”  Frey sighed.  “Thanks, Gabriel.  I appreciate it.”

“No problem, Frey.”  Gabriel grinned at him brightly.  “Consider it payment for what I did in the physics lab.”

“Physics lab, Gabriel?”  Frey groaned.  “What the fuck did you _do_?”

…

_February 17, 1998; MIT Campus, Boston, Massachusetts; Supernatural Universe_

“Professor Peverell, Professor Peverell!”  A student rushed into Frey’s class room, where he was preparing for his next class.

He was still taking as many courses as he gave half-a-fuck about, but several years before the faculty had approached him about teaching as well.  It cut into the time he could spend taking classes, but since he’d been keeping a close eye on Boston he had less problems of either monster or divine origins to deal with.

“There’s a fight in the commons, Professor!  Dr. Jones sent me to get you.”

“Goddamn it, Ash.”  Frey cursed under his breath before running out the door.

Ash was one of his most promising – and contentious – students, with a background that made other stories about abuses in the foster care and juvenile systems look like a nice day at the beach.

Not many kids could survive an attack on their family by something _other_ and live to tell the tale, but Ash had, and other than his bad habit of getting into brawls was remarkably functional.

He was already under academic probation for fighting on campus which was strictly against MIT’s academic code.

And Frey was one of the only people on campus capable of tearing him off of his latest victim – because at the end, no matter whether he started the fight or not, that’s what they became.

Jacobsen, the Dean of the Institute, caught Frey’s arm as he sped past him for the open commons.  “This is _it_ , Frey.”  The Dean swore, his florid face flushed from anger.  “He’s _out_.  No more favors, not for this one.  He’s a lost cause.”

“There’s no such thing as a lost cause, Dean Jacobsen.”  Frey eyed his boss like something that had crawled out of a dark pit covered in slime.  “But I hear you.  I’ll take care of it personally.”

…

“What was it this time, Ash?”  Frey asked wearily as he patched up the nineteen-year-old.  The kid had a shiner, a split eyebrow that Frey was clamping with butterfly bandages at the moment, and an impressive starburst of bruising over his left ribs.  “Your family?”

“Yeah.”  Ash grunted as the iodine stung.  Dr. Peverell had been cool, covering for him when he could and hauling him out of bars and brawls for the last two years.  But he knew he’d been on thin ice with the dean.  At least it was Peverell giving him the boot and not one of those assholes with their shiny offices and fat paychecks.  “Rich bastards.  Wouldn’t survive a benevolent spirit let alone any of the truly _nasty_ beasties that roam in the dark.”

Frey sighed, rising to his feet and letting Ash button his shirt back up.  Washing his hands in his kitchen sink, having pulled the kid to his residence on the edge of campus after breaking up the fight.  By the time he got there, Ash had managed to hold his own against a trio of bigger guys from one of the sports teams and was collecting the bruising on his ribs from a fourth.

“You have a plan, now that college is out until the stink of getting tossed from here dies down?”

Ash just shrugged, watching carefully as the professor shook his head and walked over to a cabinet, pulling down what looked like a go-bag, which he brought over and handed off.

“Here.”  Frey held out the bag that had some cash and basic weapons for surviving everything _other_ in this universe.  “There’s a place in the Midwest, called Harvelle’s Roadhouse.  It’s a hub for hunting in that region.  Probably more your speed than sticking around up here with all the rich bastards.”

“Thank, Professor.”  Ash said honestly.  “Really, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”  Frey arched a brow.  “More importantly, don’t mention _me_.  Last thing I need is a bunch of baby hunters coming up here expecting me to help set them up with a start-up or train them or anything.  Just…try and stay alive, kid.”

…

_November 25, 1999; Covenant Gentlemen’s Club; Boston, Mass.; Supernatural Universe_

Seventeen-year-old Sam Winchester flinched as he brushed pass a pair of people that he wasn’t sure were actually _people_ , following behind his older brother twenty-one-year-old Dean.

“What are we doing here, Dean?”  Sam hissed.  “This isn’t the sort of place we go for help, it’s the sort of place we should be staking out for a _hunt_.”

 _Gentlemen’s_ Club was putting a pretty spin on it.

It was more like a place where things that go bump in the night meet up with those idiots looking for thrills, incubi and succubi on the hunt for a partner for the night that they’ll leave satisfied and missing part of their life-force, others looking for freaky sex or food on the hoof.

Not exactly the sort of place they usually thought of when it came to seeking help when their father was too beat up from a hunt – or a bar brawl – for them to patch up and they were trying to keep under the radar of the cops, making taking him to a hospital a no-go.

“It’s neutral ground, Sammy.”  Dean told him as he scanned the interior of the smoky club for the sigil Caleb told him to look for.  “A place for anyone or _anything_ to come, take a load off, trade for information or supplies.  Whatever they need.”

“And why don’t I know about them?  Why hasn’t Dad ever said anything?”

“Because from what Caleb told me when I was asking for where to get help around here,” Dean smirked over at his little brother, who’d been shooting up in height and was gangly as could be.  “Dad’s been banned from all of them due to his not being able to keep to the no-fighting, no-hunting clause.”

“If Dad’s been banned do you really think anyone’s going to be willing to help him?”  Sam asked skeptically.

“Him, probably not.”  Dean shrugged, finally spotting the sigil he’d been looking for on the opposite wall, right over an empty booth.  “But us, maybe.  Caleb told me that the reason there’s never any major hunts in Boston or the immediate area is because a major player has it under their protection.  _That_ is who we need to convince if we want to get Dad any help under the radar.”

“Ok, fine.”  Sam scowled as he was eyed up by what he was pretty sure might be a vampire – though Dean would probably laugh at him for thinking so.  Vampires were one of the monsters of legend that they’d never run into.  “Whatever you say Dean.  So how do we get this guy’s attention?”

In answer, Dean shoved his brother into the booth then sat down next to him.  In the center of the booth’s table was a solid silver disk with a small pile of herbs piled on it.  Dean took out his lighter from his pocket, and some salt, sprinkling it on the herbs before lighting them on fire.

“Like that.”  Dean said, putting the lighter away and sitting back.  “Now we wait.”

Dean and Sam watched as for the next ten minutes, everyone or everything that had been eyeing them up for a meal – or something else equally predatory – disappeared either into the big, curtained off booths, or even out of the building altogether.

“Whoever is coming.”  Dean murmured to his brother as they watched a spirit of some kind dart right through the wall to get out of the place.  “They _must_ be packing some serious firepower if them entering neutral ground sends all the baddies running for the hills.”

“Dean.”  Sam nodded towards the entrance, where a man dressed in head-to-toe black leather strode through the door, the remaining inhabitants of the club parting before him like the Moses through the Red Sea.

“Whoa.”  Was all Dean could say, arching a brow at the sight.

And it was a sight.

The Winchesters were all large men, Dean and Sam weren’t done growing and filling out, but Sammy was probably going to be a damn gigantor before he was finished.  But this guy made their Dad, Dean, hey even Sammy look small.  He had to be well over six-foot with the build of a football player married to an Olympic swimmer.

He had long black hair pulled back in some sort of braid that Sam easily made out when he turned his head to nod at the bartender, and his eyes were greener than anything he’d seen before in his life, they definitely said otherworldly to them, actually looking like jewels set in the guy’s face.

The man in black moved to sit across from them, smirking a bit at their gobsmacked expressions.

“You rang?”  Frey asked sardonically as he eyed the pair of hunters – brothers unless he missed his guess.

“ _You’re_ the healer Caleb sent us to?”  Dean asked incredulously, eyes wide.

“Not exactly.”  Frey answered.  “This is my city.  Under my protection.  If someone sent you to me for _help_ then you must be in pretty dire straits, my version of helping usually involves a sword to the neck.”

“Can we speak in private?”  Sam asked, eyeing the others in the club warily, even with the most obviously-predatory disappearing before the man in black arrived.

Frey held up one hand, a green glow surrounding the booth then creating a type of field between them and the rest of the club.

“You can speak freely; we won’t be overheard.”  He told the pair, looking between the suspicious green eyes and somehow-innocent hazel eyes.

“What, are you some kinda witch?”  Dean stared aggressively across at the guy.  “Made any trades with demons lately?”

“Not likely, mate.”  Frey smirked, green eyes flashing brighter, more like the killing curse or his father’s green for a moment, clearly disconcerting the brothers.  “I’m beyond _them_.” He flashed a sneer at the thought before letting his face blank once again.  “Now come.  What is it that would bring hunters to this place, other than researching a hunt.”

“How do you know we’re hunters?”  Sam asked, cocking his head to the side.

“Please.”  Frey snorted lightly.  “Worn clothes, carrying knives and guns, and eyeing everyone and everything in this club as if you’re trying to figure out their deepest darkest secrets and how to kill them for them.  Hunters.  We don’t get them often in Boston but when we do you lot tend to leave a body count behind of one kind or another.”

“It’s…our dad.”  Sam said hesitantly, after trading a chagrined glance with his brother.  “He’s pretty banged up, and his last hunt drew some heat.  We can’t take him to a hospital and we don’t know if he’ll make it all the way to one of our normal pit stops that have medical knowledge beyond basic first aid and how to pull out a bullet.”

“And someone sent you to me.”  Frey tapped one finger on the wooden table next to the brazier.  “I suppose that answers the what.  Now for the who and why.  Who are you and why should I bother healing a hunter that would likely shoot first and ask questions never?”

“We’re…”  Dean started only to get cut off.

“Winchester.”  Sam said, flinching at the hit to his shoulder his older brother gave him for giving out their names to someone seriously shady.  “Sam and Dean Winchester.  Our father is John.”

“The Winchesters.”  Frey mused as if to himself.  “Now that’s interesting.  So, big daddy John is jammed up and you two decided to try for some back-alley help, huh?  He even know you’re here?  Somehow I doubt it since John has been banned from every neutral zone in the country.”

“No, he doesn’t.”  Dean snapped at him.  “He’d probably kick our asses if he knew we were within a mile of this place.  But…”

“He’s your father.”  Frey finished for him.  “That’s something I understand all too well.”

Dean and Sam traded a look that was half-caution and half-surprise at the tone in the man-in-black’s voice.

Like he really did understand.

“Alright.”  Frey nodded once.  “So you guys walked into the lion’s den to save one of your own.  Take me to him and I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you, man.”  Dean blew out a breath in relief while Sam eyed the man-in-black with increased wariness.

“What do you want in exchange?”  Sam asked.  “Nobody who claims to _own_ a city does things out of the goodness of their heart.  Nobody.”

“We’ll call it a favor.”  Frey smiled.  “One that you’ll repay one day.”

Dean grimaced at that while a smug look crossed Sam’s face.  Score one for the baby brother.

…

_Portree Motel, South Boston_

“Oh Jesus, boys.”  John groaned, coughing up a little blood as he saw just who followed them into their latest run-down motel room.  “When you said Caleb had given you a line on someone who could help I thought you meant a doctor, not the wicked witch of the East.”

“Hey.”  Frey bitched right back at the cantankerous man.  “I resent that.  My eyes are green, not all of me.”

“Whatever, asshole.”  John coughed some more, flinching and wrapping his arm in an involuntary attempt to guard his abdomen, where he had injuries that were slowly killing him.  “Did you come here to gloat or are you going to pull your thumb out of your ass and help?”

“I told you.”  Frey rolled his eyes as he shrugged off his leather jacket.  “ _Don’t_ jump the gun.  Learn to ask questions beyond what is it and how to kill it.  When you overlook the whole picture and ignore details, shit like this can happen because you don’t realize that a particular werewolf ran with a pack or that there was more than one ghost haunting a site.”

“Wait.”  Sam frowned.  “How’d you know that he got tossed around by a bunch of ghosts?”

“I know everything that goes down within a hundred miles of here.”  Frey answered as he peeled up John’s shirt to get a better idea of what he was dealing with.  “One way or another, word always reaches me.  Ymir, John.”  He winced, seeing the clear signs of internal bleeding in the blood pooling under the skin.  “You’re lucky to be alive, idiot.”

“So…”  Dean drawled.  “How do you two know each other?”

“Who do you think it was that issued John’s ban from neutral zones?”  Frey asked sarcastically.  “The boogey-man?  John came into Covenant guns blazing and killed a pack of werewolves.”

“Owner wanted my blood.”  John gasped as Frey laid his hands carefully on his chest and stomach and started pouring power into him, forcing him to heal in ways that were unnatural to a mortal human…and as a consequence hurt like hell.  “Frey got him to agree to banishment instead.”

“Frey, huh?”  Dean commented.  “Nice name, dude.”

…

John sent his boys out for food for the road, eyeing Frey as he slowly climbed to his feet.

He was sore, that was for fucking sure, but he no longer felt as if his insides were soup or that he’d break in half if he moved wrong.

Frey was poking and prodding at a couple of his bruises along his back and chest when John finally spoke.

“What was the price?”  He asked, hand itching to go for a gun…though for all he knew it wouldn’t do shit to Frey.  Whoever the guy really was – though the name rang true enough – he was definitely in the leagues of _what_ rather than _who_ , at least as far as John was concerned.  Short of a demon, especially _the_ demon, Frey was the most powerful fucker John had ever come across, and that was saying something.  “For healing me.”

“A favor, later.”  Frey answered honestly, with one last poke at a bruise to make sure he’d gotten all the internal bruising taken care of.  “From both of them.  Now I’ve got the hat-trick of favors from the Winchester boys in my back pocket.”

“Sonuvabitch.”  John cursed, scrubbing his hands over his face in agitation.  “What’s with you and favors anyway?”  He demanded, moving towards the shower.  Normally with a creature of some kind in the room John would be shooting or stabbing, not letting his back be unprotected.  But one thing the hunter community had figured out about Boston’s protector was so long as he held your marker he wasn’t going to kill you.

Unless you _really_ pissed him off.

One idiot who decided to badmouth Frey’s parentage had found that out the hard way, according to the hunter information-chain.

“Favors make _this_ world go ‘round, John.”  Frey said with a humorless chuckle.  “You know that.  Favors are the currency of beings that don’t concern themselves with things like money or gold.  A demon racks up enough of them and they can score a power boost.  A hunter with favors can stay alive longer than one without.  And so on and so forth.  I may never call in the favors you and your sons owe.  Or I might, hard to say.  What matters is that I _am_ owed and by many more people and beings than just you, John.”

…

_May 1, 2005; Covenant Gentlemen’s Club, Boston, Mass.; Supernatural Universe_

Herbs were lit on fire, a message sent that had the bottom-feeders that populated the club scurrying out of the line of fire.

“Well, well, well.”  Frey murmured sardonically as he popped into being on the opposite side of the booth from his summoner, not giving _this_ one the benefit of him arriving in a mundane fashion.  “Look what the cat dragged in.  I thought I’ve made it clear over the last twenty years that your _kind_ aren’t welcome here, hell spawn.”

Azazel, also known as the Yellow-Eyed Demon, grinned sharply at the figure of the elusive being that protected Boston, known only as either Frey or the Man-In-Black depending on who you were – or more importantly who you knew.

To Azazel, whose plans were just about to start coming to fruition, this…creature was either a potential road-block or highly-valuable ally.

It just depended on whether he could be _dealt_ with…and what the price might be.

In that, this creature was not unlike a demon, though if he _was_ he was both the strongest and the strangest demon Azazel had ever seen, barring Lucifer and maybe the other Knights of Hell.

“That you have.”  Azazel nodded after studying the strange being for several long moments, Frey taking his measure in turn.  “However, Covenant and other places like it have been neutral ground longer than your claim over Boston.  And will continue to be long after you’re dead and gone.”

“Gone, I’ll grant you.”  Frey’s smile was razor-thin and just as dangerous.  “But I wouldn’t count on dead if I were you, Azazel.  What do you want, demon?  I don’t make _deals_ with your kind.”

“Rather racist of you.”  Azazel eyed him with honest – as honest as a demon like him was capable of anyway – curiosity.  “You’re not _of_ this world, I can taste it on you.  I couldn’t make a deal with you if I were Lucifer himself.  In that way, you’re _beyond_ me.  As for what I want…well.  That’s the question isn’t it?  Hell on Earth, unlimited supply of pretty blondes, my father freed from his cage, the usual demonic desires.  But what I want from you is simple, and not all that different than what you’re already doing: non-interference.  I have a few irons in the fire, and I’d rather not have to deal with something like whatever you are messing things up.”

“Non-interference?”  Frey arched a brow in amusement.  “You _really_ think you’re going to get a vow from me?  Especially something like that?  There’s nothing you have or can acquire that would entice me into making that vow, Azazel.”  Frey smirked, already half-faded out.  “All you’ve done it waste _both_ of our times.  And unlike me…you don’t have an unlimited supply of it.  Not if you want all your plans to come to fruition.”

…

_Later that night; Frey’s house_

“I see you’ve met one of my son’s oldest ‘children’.”  Chuck drawled, watching in amusement as Frey jumped with a start at his sudden appearance.

“Yggdrasil.”  Frey cursed, mopping up the cider he’d been pouring when the Nomad God had surprised him.  “I _hate_ it when you do that.”

“I’ve only done it twice in twenty years.”  Chuck rolled his eyes.  “You’ll get over it.”  Or he wouldn’t but he wasn’t from Chuck’s universe…so…you know…not his problem.

Frey grumbled to himself as he rounded his kitchen counter and moved to sit opposite Chuck on his couch, Chuck having taken up residence in his favorite armchair in his living room attached to the kitchen/dining room.

“Okay.”  Frey heaved a weary sigh.  “First I get summoned by one of your asshole hell spawn and now you show up in my living room.  Either I’ve attained new heights of popularity or the Wheel is starting to Turn faster.”

“For all that you can be quite charming company, I’m afraid it’s the latter, Frey.”  Chuck shrugged sheepishly.  “And it’s Azazel’s visit to you – or actually just Azazel in general – that has me knocking on your metaphorical door for the second time.  You’ve held up your end of the deal governing your presence here admirably.”

“Vacation, Chuck.”  Frey sighed.  “Say it with me: vacation.  I’ve been detoxing from the start of the Wheel turning in my own universe.  The last thing I want is to get caught up in another Turn in someone else’s.”

“Sorry.”  Chuck smirked.  “No can do.  Your presence has had unforeseen consequences.  And where before I didn’t know how to deal with some of the coming trials in a stacked deck, now I have a solution: you.”

“Stacked deck?’  Frey snarked.  “Just now realizing that the angels and demons have no intention of playing nice with the new baby in the family are you?  I would’ve figured Lucifer’s rebellion would have cleared up that issue for you beyond a shadow of doubt.”

“That’s not the problem.”  Chuck waved a hand nonchalantly.  “Both of the – in your metaphor – big kids in the family always underestimate humanity.  They’ll lose in the end either way.  That’s not my concern.  It hurts me – of course it does – that they’ve taken such a hard stance against my most beloved creations.  But I won’t smite one child to save another from a little pain and suffering.  Now when that child starts to try and stack the deck against humanity… _that’s_ when I start wondering how to fix it.  And you…”  Chuck chuckled.  “ _You_ Mr. Avatar of Chaos were a _gift_ from the cosmic entities if you ask me.”

“I have a _severe_ dislike of cleaning up other deities’ messes.”  Frey commented idly, then pinning Chuck with a glance from his poison-green eyes.  “Azazel was willing to make a deal for my non-interference…and he doesn’t even know who or what I truly am.  You do…or at least you _think_ you do.  What is it you think you have to offer me that I’ll be interested in to get me to interfere?  I’ve had my vacation – mostly untroubled – and learned what I set out to, anything more I’ll need to study in my own universe.  So: what’s stopping me from packing up and leaving rather than getting tangled up in _your_ mess?”

Chuck leaned forward, hands clasped loosely between his knees.  “I can grant you a vision of events to come in your own universe, allow you to see how the turning of your own Wheel _might_ play out.  Is that worth a little bit of time and trouble on your part?  Or do I need to give you a more tangible prize than a chance to change your father’s fate?”

Frey growled low in his throat.  It was indeed a tempting – and infuriating – offer.  “What would the exact terms of the deal be?”  He demanded.

“Simple.”  Chuck smiled, knowing he was close to securing the other god’s agreement.  “You’ll do much the same as you have for the last twenty years: protection.  But this will be over a single family instead of an entire city.  Granted.”  He grimaced, thinking of some of the visions of the future he’d had lately.  “It’s likely to be more work than the last twenty years, this family is at the very center of this Turn, much like yours is in your universe.  All you’ll have to do is protect them to the full extent of your abilities and in exchange I’ll grant you a single vision of the turning of your Wheel.”

“What about unknown dangers or decisions?”  Frey asked after mulling it over.  “Will our deal be voided if one of them makes a decision that injures or even kills them, or something or someone gets to them that I don’t know about?”

“No.”  The Nomad God told him resolutely.  “But I _do_ expect you to ensure that you’re close to them as much as possible to avert as many of those ‘unknowns’ as possible.”

“Very well, I suppose.”  Frey sighed.  “I can give you anywhere between ten and fifteen years depending on how time ticks on by between this place and my home.  The moment my children return from their school for the Yule holiday is the day I return to my universe.  Not one day more.  Agreed?”

“It is agreed.”  Chuck nodded, rising.  “On the eve of your leaving, I will come and give you your vision.  Until then…have fun playing guardian angel to the Winchesters.  You’re to take up your charge on January 20th of next year.”

“Winchester?”  Frey groaned, flopping back in his chair.  “I should’ve told you to go fuck yourself.  _Winchester_.”  His tone made the name a curse.  “Last I heard they’re in the wind, each going their own way.  Any one of them take precedence over the others?”

“Dean and Sam before John or his son Adam.”  Chuck told him with a laugh for his dramatics.  “Neither of John’s sons with Mary are aware that their father has a younger child from after their mother died.  And as for them being split up…by the time you take up your charge, Sam and Dean will be united once more.”  Chuck conjured a piece of paper with writing on it, setting it down on the end table before disappearing from the house.

Grumbling under his breath, Frey picked up the paper, seeing only a few lines written in a lovely fluid script.

_January 20, 2006_

_The Church of Roy Le Grange, Faith Healer_

_Ford City, Nebraska_

“Oh, I _really_ don’t like the sound of that.”  Frey sighed, already making a mental checklist of everything he’d need to buy or sell before meeting up with a family of hunters and getting himself invited along, as well as planning a pit-stop to ward the shit out of the home of one “Adam” son of John Winchester, chief pain in his _ass_.

 

**_Smells Like Sulfur_ **

**_Chapter Two – Faith for the Faithless_ **

_January 19, 2006; Ford City, Nebraska; Supernatural Universe_

Frey could not deny, he always enjoyed the transition periods between his endeavors in worlds other than his own.

The building or rebuilding an identity, gathering everything he’d need for a trip or a mission, it was fun (for the most part) and filled with anticipation.

In this case, with Chuck’s deal on the table, it meant giving his notice at MIT, clearing and selling his house, finding and warding the home of one Adam Milligan, and making sure he had everything he’d need to run around with a family of hunters for the foreseeable future.  The first couple parts didn’t take that long, and by the time school was out for the summer, all of Frey’s obligations that were holding him in Boston had been cleared – including his hold on the booth at Covenant.  There would be no more summoning spells coming from that sector, at this point if anyone needed him _that_ badly, they’d better start praying to him or have his cellphone number, otherwise they would be shit out of luck.

He spent the months in between on the third prong of his “getting ready” checklist: making sure he had what he needed to play hunter for the next decade…or until Chuck released him, if that unlikely event came first.

Frey was familiar with the hunter lifestyle from helping them out every once and awhile when they got in over their heads or needed some obscure information.  It wasn’t unlike his father’s stories of adventuring with Thor and the four idiots, only it was a life-choice not an occasional break from court duties.  With his engineering degrees under his belt, plus the hands-on from UTI and living with Dom, Frey scooped up the shell of a ’72 Chevy Suburban, one of the older-styles with only a single driver-side door, as well as throwing down money on a BMW sport motorcycle, both of which he stripped down to bare bones before building them back up from the tires all the way to the paint jobs.

It was pretty much what kept him sane when he wasn’t reading up and refreshing himself on the monsters of this Earth, thankfully he already knew how to perform an exorcism, though he was pretty sure he had the power to force a demon – or even an angel – from their host.

An exorcism, while more time consuming, would draw less attention.

Too many creatures, beings, and people already knew of him, even if they haven’t met him, for Frey to want to draw even more attention to himself on this world.

Odin’s powers might be limited in a world so far from Yggdrasil, since only Avatars – and not even all of them – could use their power freely away from their pantheon universes, but that didn’t mean he was _powerless_.

And as pissed off as Odin was with Frey _and_ Loki, the less of his attention he brought down on himself the better, until he was in a state of mind where he was ready to handle it – preferably with his father recovered from wherever he’d…fallen and on his side.

With the motorcycle taking up half of the cargo area in the one-ton suburban, Frey ripped out the third-row seating, the second half of the cargo area became part-research library/magical supply center and half armory, with a weapon’s hold hidden in the floor and the side-wall, the ramp for the motorcycle concealed in the bumper and chassis sliding out when needed, then modified the one remaining bench seat behind the driver and passenger to fold down into a cot whose size was larger than a twin but smaller than a full-sized bed.

Magic conjured up a variety of fake id’s, badges, and official credentials that would keep him from having to magic his way into crime scenes or morgues, a precaution made following a chat with Caleb, one of Frey’s favorite hunters.

He felt an itch under his skin, the same one he’d felt in the weeks and months leading up to Thor’s coronation and the devastating events that followed.

Frey hummed along with the old Kansas song on the radio while he broke down and cleaned his weapons, finding the familiar actions soothing even if his arsenal this time was made of more guns and knives than swords and spears.

The morning would come soon enough, and his date with the Winchester boys along with it.

…

_The Next Morning; The Church of Roy Le Grange, Ford City, Nebraska; Supernatural Universe_

“Aw, what the fuck Sammy?”  Dean groaned, desperately trying to ignore the ever-present ache and pains in his chest since he tasered himself as well as that damned Rawhead.  “A faith healer?  Really?”  He shoved his way out of the Impala, still taking care not to hurt his baby.  “I thought you said you were taking me to a doctor.”

“No, I said I was taking you to a specialist.”  Sam corrected his brother as he jogged around to Dean’s side, making sure he didn’t fall in the muddy field that was playing parking-lot for the “Church”.  “Look, Dean.  We’ve tried everything, even thought about looking up that guy who saved Dad’s life, but there’s nothing.  Guy took off months ago and no one who’s gotten back to me knows how to find him.  But _this_.”  Sam waved a hand at the tent that they’d come to a stop near while he argued with his brother.  “This guy is supposed to be the real deal.  Over half-a-dozen people healed in the last year alone.  He can _help_ you, Dean.”

“Nobody does something for nothing, Sam.  _Nobody_.”  Dean swore under his breath as they were eyed with varying levels of distrust by the gathering congregation.  “And you _really_ think some tent-revival holy man is going to what?  Lay hands on me and magically cure my heart?  There’s gotta be a cost Sammy.  There’s _always_ a cost.”

“Y-” Sam started to answer only to get cut off by a timely interruption in a vaguely-familiar but very out-of-place European-ish accent.

“It involves magic alright.”  Frey eyed the tent with clear distaste, nose wrinkled as if smelling something foul.  “And not the kind that fills you with the warm-fuzzies either.”

“You?”  Sam choked out, eyes wide.  “You’re the guy who healed our dad!  I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for days!”

“Yeah.”  Dean snarked around his smirk.  “Because _this guy_ showing up here after one of dad’s friends told you about the faith-healer isn’t suspicious _at all_.”

“I know where you’re going with that Winchester-1, but you couldn’t be farther from the truth if you were on the moon.”  Frey told him frankly, rather amused by Dean’s attitude, even in the face of his impending death.  “I’m not the faith healer.  But I _am_ here because you two are.  A little bird told me I needed to be here today, been waiting all buggering day too.  No idea why other than you two would be here and I needed to meet up with you.  Well.”  He studied the sweaty-faced and pale Dean with a knowing eye.  “Guess you’ve answered that question, haven’t you mate.  Right fucked aren’t you?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”  Dean admitted with a good-natured shrug.  “Nasty accident with some high-voltage current, a puddle of water, and a Rawhead.  My heart’s toast.  _Genius_ here.”  Dean smacked Sam on the arm.  “Thought this Le Grange character could heal me.”

“Probably could.”  Frey acknowledged as they watched the Reverend heal a pretty blonde named Layla who’d been called to the stage while they talked just outside the tent.  “But I doubt you’d like the price.  At least with me, you know what you’re getting into.  Him?”  Frey snorted, shaking his head as he watched the goings-on with the Reaper and the preacher’s wife.  “I don’t even think the good Reverend has any idea what kind of forces are at play here.”

“Told you.”  Dean hissed at his brother.  “Cost, Sammy.  Cost.  So, Frey, right?  What’s _your_ cost for healing me?”

“Nothing much.”  Frey told them nonchalantly as a wave of religious ecstasy came over the congregation as they huddled around the newly-healed and “redeemed” Layla.  “I’ve recently made a contract.  One that requires me to keep you two alive and well.  In order to do that I need to be around.”

“You want to hunt with us?”  Sam raised his brows incredulously.  “You?  What about Boston?”

“Boston handled itself long before I arrived.”  Frey said dryly.  “And _that_ wasn’t my idea any more than this is.  But a job is a job.  And I’ve got some time to burn anyway.  So, what do you say?  Pick up another hunter for your jobs, and Dean gets a new lease on life.  Deal?”

“We’re not just taking jobs.”  Dean told him in a spate of honesty.  If Dude was going to heal him, cool.  And they could use the firepower Frey was known to bring to the table according to the hunter rumor-mill.  But he needed to know what he was getting into.  “Our dad has gone MIA, we’re trying to track him down.  Make sure he’s okay.”

“John?”  Frey arched a brow.  “He’s alive, I know that much.  What’s he hunting that he’s keeping off the grid?”

“Demon who killed our Mom.”  Sam admitted after sharing a long glance with his older brother.  “Same thing he’s been hunting almost all my life.”

“Well now.”  Frey murmured, as he took a deeper look into Sam.  “Isn’t that interesting.  Doesn’t make a difference to me.  I have a commission to carry out.  Dean’s predicament simply keeps me from burning the debt you two owe me in order to tag along and keep your arses in their normally gorgeous condition.”

“Done.”  Dean decided with a sigh.  “Where we gonna do this?”

“I have a room in town.”  Frey told them, motioning them away from the tent, leaving the revival in peace…for the moment.  “We’ll do it there.  After all, we need you in ace condition…we’ve a hunt, yeah?”

“Wait.”  Sam frowned, gesturing back towards the tent.  “You mean…?”

“Oh yeah.”  Frey nodded with a smirk.  “Like I said: not the warm-fuzzy kind of magic.  Sam, you can research the good reverend and his “healing touch” while I fix up Dean.  Twenty bucks says that at the same day and time as his “miracles” another person has died unexpectedly.”

 _Seriously_.  Frey thought to himself in exasperation.  What kind of _idiot_ tries to keep a Reaper on a leash?

…

“He’s right.”  Sam spoke up then gave a surprised glance at the pair when Dean got up from the bed post-healing.  “How do you feel?”

“Like ten minutes ago I was afraid my heart was going to explode.”  Dean blew out a breath then gave him a bright grin.  “Or like I made a deal with the devil.”

“Hey.”  Frey protested idly.  “I resent that.  I’m _much_ better looking than the devil.  Well.”  He corrected himself.  “Depending on Lucifer’s vessel at the time anyway.  His angelic form is pretty hard to beat, even for me.”

“Wait.”  Dean frowned, holding up a finger.  “The _devil_ is real?  Lucifer, angel armies, whole nine yards?”

“Yeah.”  Frey drawled, arching a disbelieving brow.  “Who did you _think_ was the King of Hell?  Mary Poppins?  He’s trapped anyway.”  He shrugged, moving on.  “But a couple of his most powerful children-slash-creations are capable of communing with him in his cage.”

“Okay, then.”  Dean blinked.  “The devil and apparently _angels_ are real.”  He jabbed one finger at Frey as the taller man moved to hop up to perch on the couch, the Winchesters having taken both of the chairs at the table where Sam was researching – and watching them with amused eyes at the moment.  “Believe me, we’re coming back to that.  First things, first.”  He turned back to Sammy.  “He’s right about what now?”

“I hacked the morgue records and compared the death certificates with some of the publicized healings of the good Reverend.”  Sam told them, Dean coming around to look at the information Sam had up on his laptop, Frey kicking back on the couch and listening with half an ear.  “And from what I can tell they’re matches: heart-attacks, cancer, COPD, the works.  I bet tomorrow I can hack in and I’ll find someone who mysteriously died of a previously undiagnosed brain tumor like that Layla girl was “cured” from.”  Sam frowned, chewing on his lower lip.

“Alright, good enough for me.”  Dean stood back up and stretched, pulling out a beer from the stocked mini-fridge he wandered over to investigate.  Frey had gotten a nicer room – though not by much – than the brothers’ normal.  Two beds, couch, mini-fridge and microwave.  It even had one of the single-cup coffee machines everyone was so hyped up about.  “So what can both heal someone who’s dying and replace them with someone else?  That’s what we’re dealing with here, right?  Life-for-life trades?”

“Yeah.”  Frey said with a nod.  “The dark, evil sacrifice kind.”

“Is there any _other_ kind?”  Dean asked half sarcastic and half curious.

In answer Frey just held up his hand and wobbled it in the universal signal for so-so.

Dean hummed under his breath at that.  Maybe Frey tagging along with them wouldn’t be so bad.  He was already proving to be a font of strange and obscure information.  Kinda like a better looking-and-smelling Bobby.

“There’s only _one_ thing I can think of in the lore that has that kind of power.”  Sam told them, flipping to a page in one of his occult books.

“It’s a Reaper.”  Frey supplied, crossing his arms behind his head.

“How did you know that?”  Sam frowned.  It’d taken a bit of looking in the hours Frey was working on Dean to figure that out.

“I could see it.”  He answered dryly, ignoring the shocked – and kinda disturbed – looks he was getting from both brothers.  “The magic that’s around that place is black, nasty, murderous-sacrifice necromancy.  The only kind that works to bind a Reaper.  Having him appear and heal the girl was just confirmation.  I already had a pretty good idea of what was going on from the moment I came within sensing distance of the place.”

“So Reaper.”  Dean nodded, taking a pull from his beer.  “How do we stop it?”

“The Reaper isn’t the problem, Dean.”  Sam explained patiently.  “They’re truly neutral from everything written about them in the lore.  The only thing they care about is doing their jobs of ferrying souls between life and death.  We need to take out the witch controlling it.”

“Mr. Mysteriously Powerful, thoughts?”

“Sam’s right.”  Frey shrugged as he leveraged himself into a sitting position and turned to face the brothers.  “Reapers care about one thing: the balance between life and death.  And they only take orders _from_ higher level Death beings like a god or Avatar or personification.  Not some witch who made a couple sacrifices and chanted over a cross.  Though I would be interested in seeing how it was done from a sense of professional curiosity.”

“It would be one of the Le Granges right?”  Sam posed the question.  “Either the Reverend or his wife.”

“Most likely.”  Dean shrugged.  “Maybe a devout member of the church.  Guess we’re breaking into the parsonage during the next revival.”

“You two will need to make sure you’re not seen.”  Frey told them seriously.  “A Reaper can come at me all they want and I’ll just shake it off.  You two won’t.  I’ll play lookout while you guys search the house.  Better me than you play bait for an insane power-hungry witch.”

“Insane is right.”  Sam agreed.  “Binding a Reaper is like trying to put a dog leash on a great white.  They’re going to end up reaping the whirlwind the moment we figure out how to break the spell.”

…

Later the next day, Sam and Dean watched from over their burgers and fries that they’d gotten at the local fast-food joint as Frey ignored his and thumbed through the little black book they’d found in the Reverend’s office.

Sam had been the one to locate the book while Dean searched the lower levels of the house, eventually trashing an alter that gave him the heebie jeebies.

“So that alter is gone, problem solved, right?”  Dean asked around a cheek-full of ground beef and cheese.

“Maybe.”  Sam answered having taken a look at the book before they bugged out of the parsonage.  “Depends on the ritual.  Some spells have an anchor, like an amulet or a token.”

“Or a hex-bag, right, got it.”  Dean saluted his brother with his beer bottle.  “Thanks Doctor Strange.”

“That’s a real person you know.”  Frey said absently.  “He exists in several universes.”

“No shit, really?”  Dean arched a brow.  “How the fuck does that work?”

“It’s called bleed-through.  Or echoes.  Or, or, or.”  Frey answered, waving one hand in a lazy loop as he studied the passage that covered binding a Reaper.  “All of the universes are connected in the scope of the All of Things or the All of Existence.  And all of them are created at least in part by the same six cosmic entities.  Think panspermia, only more mystical and less chemical.  So in some cases you get bleed-through: echoes of other universes and planes of existence.  We have the Bible where I’m from.  You get echoes in stories and fables, there’s even some pagan gods running around this world as weak parodies of the ruling pantheons of other universes.”

“You’re talking about multi-verse theory, multiple dimensions, that kind of thing.”  Sam said with no little amount of excitement in his voice.  “And you’re originally from one of them?  Which one?”

“Dude.”  Dean leered at Frey with mischievous green eyes.  “You’re not just weird, you’re like Alien weird.  Or Doctor Who status.  You even make genius-boy here look normal.”

“I make a _lot_ of people look normal.”  Frey said dryly.  “And the universe question is a little sticky since I’m connected to several in one way or another.  And bad news: Sam’s right.  The Reaper spell has an anchor, destroying the alter was only half of it.  We need to find and destroy the anchor as well.”

“Okay.”  Sam went with the topic change even though he really wanted to ask more questions.  Innocent lives trumped knowledge-gathering, no matter how much it might suck.  “What kind of anchor?”

Frey flipped the book around, setting it down face-up on the table between them and tapping one of the hand-drawn images with a finger then dug into his own massive order of burger, fries, and XL shake.

“Coptic cross.”  He said, sucking down some ice-cream-milk-and-syrup goodness.  “Probably a necklace or bracelet, maybe a rosary.  Something small and portable, they’d need it on them at all times to prompt the Reaper on when to kill whoever they’d marked on the alter.”

“I got a pretty good look at the Reverend when he was healing Layla.”  Sam said, watching with no-little fascination as Frey put away enough food for three men.  “He wasn’t wearing anything like that.”

“Man.”  Dean commented, reluctantly impressed with Frey’s impression of Sam’s teenage appetite.  “How are you not a thousand pounds?”

“What makes you think I’m not?”  Frey joked.  “Though a thousand is a serious exaggeration – I don’t weigh an ounce over four hundred.”

“What?”  Dean blinked, then dragged his gaze over the lithely muscled, if tall and broad shouldered – form of Frey.  “There’s no way.”

“I’m not human guys.”  Frey laughed.  “I thought you hunters had that figured out already?  What’s the current bet up to on my species anyway?”

“A thousand bucks.”  Dean admitted.  “But no one’s come up with a solid theory beyond ‘can’t possibly be human’, or at least the vanilla version anyway.  Witch is one of the major theories, with trickster coming in a close second thanks to Bobby and Caleb.”

“That’s close.”  Frey told them with a chuckle.  “And yet so very very far away from the truth.  Anyway, I have denser bones, muscles, and connective tissues than a human.  It’s one of the factors in my strength, and why I weigh more than a human my same size would.”

“You’re not going to tell us, are you?”  Dean sighed when Frey just smirked and shook his head.  “Anyway.  If the Reverend’s out then my money’s on the wife.”

“How are we going to search her without alerting her and having the Reaper sent after us?”  Sam asked.

“I can think of a thing or two.”  Frey offered, smiling deviously, causing visible unease in the brothers, and making them glad that it wasn’t really directed _at_ them.

…

“Welcome, welcome.”  Sue-Ann Le Grange smiled at the trio of young men.  She’d seen them before, they’d been at the service where sweet Layla had been healed.  Arguing from what she could tell and Roy could hear, about one of them – the youngest if she had it right – taking his brother to Roy for healing.  That was all Roy had overheard, the trio never came in for that service.  But they were here now, clearly willing to receive God’s grace.

“Thank you, ma’am.”  The shortest of the men smiled charmingly.

She was pretty sure he was the one in need of healing.

Though calling him short in any way was doing him a disservice, he was over six-foot by at least an inch as he shook her hand.  It was merely the company he kept that made him look small, the tallest one – who gave her a strange sensation…it was almost…dread – dwarfed him by more than half-a-head with the middle-tallest being a few inches shorter than that but still several inches taller than his brother.  No, Sue-Ann didn’t like the look of the tall one a’tall.

But, being a good Christian woman and pastor’s wife, she knew that looks could be deceptive.

After all, Satan himself was said to have been the most beautiful and perfect of all God’s angels.

“Ma’am.”  The tall one greeted her in turn, only to be jostled into her, almost knocking Sue-Ann down through his sheer size and weight.  “Sam _my_.”  He scolded his companion, the youngest who looked so very sweet.  “Watch your step.”  He turned back, nearly blinding her with his blinding smile as he steadied her before letting go.  “Sorry about that, ma’am.  Sammy still hasn’t quite grown into his feet yet.”

“It’s no problem, none at all.”  She smiled brightly back, her feeling of foreboding washing away in the sight of those beautiful eyes and the sound of that soothing voice.  “Please, enjoy the service.”

…

“So you were what, a pick-pocket in another life?”  Dean asked sarcastically as he stared at the amulet – a Coptic cross – that was dangling and spinning, the chain held lightly between Frey’s fingers as they reconvened in the Impala after the service.

Frey had ridden over with the brothers, and was once more ensconced in the Impala’s back seat, this time playing with the amulet he’d “liberated” from around the neck of the “pious” and devout Mrs. Le Grange.

“Like you two don’t know how to lift a wallet or plant evidence if you need to?”  Frey shot back with a snort as he snapped the amulet back up into his hand.  “Besides, with a spell of my own she won’t even notice that it’s gone or the alter was trashed until she goes to mark another victim.  We only need to smash and burn this thing for good measure.  Onward to an empty stretch of road, driver.”

“Driver my ass.”  Dean scowled at both Frey for saying it and Sammy for laughing his ass off in the passenger seat.  “Next time you’re driving yourself, smartass.”

“Better a smart ass than a dumb ass.”  Frey almost sang at Dean, smirking at the man’s worsening scowl in the rearview mirror.

…

“Wakey wakey.”  Sam called as he shoved open the door to the motel room with his elbow, arms full of carry-out containers from the local diner and paper take-out cups of coffee.  Grinning wickedly, he set down the food and coffee before turning to the windows and throwing open the curtains to groans and curses from the two men that were studiously ignoring his attempts at waking them.

Dean tossed a pillow at him from where he’d moved to take over the whole of the bed the two brothers had shared the night before after breaking and torching the amulet, Frey merely flipped him off and buried himself further into the blanket cocoon he’d made himself on the opposite bed.

“Come on, guys, I’ve got news.”  Sam told them coaxingly, which had his brother sitting up and Frey peering out blearily from his blanket burrito.  Sam waved a steaming cup of coffee towards the beds enticingly, which did the trick, Dean climbing to his feet grumpily while Frey more stumbled over and into a chair, snatching up the cup from Sam’s hand and sucking down half the contents in one gulp.  “Not a morning person are you?”

“Not by choice if I can help it.”  Frey admitted.  “After spending twenty years protecting Boston from what goes bump in the night, my body isn’t used to early mornings anymore, even if I spent a lot more time than that being up with the sun for chores or school or college classes.”

“You went to college?”  Sam perked up, looking over from where he’d been digging into an omelet stuffed to the brim with veggies and cheese.

“More than once.”  Frey admitted with a nod as he grabbed one of the cartons with his name on it, opening it up he was pleased to find another omelet, this one twice the size of Sam’s and just as loaded, though it had ham in addition to the other fillings.  “What’s your news?”  He changed the subject abruptly bringing it back around.

Dean just grunted as he dug into his own breakfast of bacon, eggs, and pancakes, knocking back his coffee while the machine behind them cranked out several more cups as Sam manned it, passing them over to the grudgingly-awake duo.

“You were right, Frey.”  Sam told them, then completed the thought, referencing the on-going discussion about how they would know whether the spell on the Reaper was ended or not.  “Sue-Ann Le Grange was found dead shortly after the revival last night, her t-o-d estimated at around 9:40PM.”

“Same time as when we smashed and burned the necklace.”  Dean observed, his brain waking up with the calories and coffee.  “Nice.”

“Reapers are forces of nature.”  Frey shrugged, waiting to swallow his mouthful of eggs, meat, veg, and cheese before continuing.  “Sam said it best: like putting a dog leash on a great white.  I’d wager good money that the first thing the Reaper did after the spell broke was find the pastor’s wife and Reap her.”

“What about all the people Roy healed?”  Sam asked with a frown.  It wasn’t the first time the thought had occurred to him, but dealing with the monster at hand – this time a black-magic witch who was using a Reaper to play God – came first before the more ambiguous questions.  “Will it go after them?”

Frey shook his head, twitching his fork in a negative gesture, as he chewed, Dean picking up on his thought even though he didn’t verbalize it.

“Debt’s been paid right?”  Dean connected the dots.  “Reapers are about the balance of life and death: the right number of people died even if it wasn’t the _right_ people who died.  Taking the survivors like Layla would just throw the balance off.”

“What he said.”  Frey pointed his fork at Dean.  “Death and creatures in service to it or drawing their powers from it are usually big supporters of the balance.”

“Alright then.”  Sam nodded, thinking.  “I guess that’s good enough for me.”

“Soo.”  Dean drawled after everyone was fed and watered, leaning back in his chair, one hand loosely cupped around his paper cup of coffee.  “Where to next, Sammy?”

“Well.”  Sam twitched a little, rubbing one hand against the back of his neck.  “I found some signs of a haunting two counties over but I’m not sure if Frey…”

“Hold that thought.”  Frey lifted his hand, shaking his head lightly.  “My contract is to help keep you two alive to the best of my abilities.  Nowhere in the fine print does it say anything about making decisions about where or what you hunt.  If I have information that’ll help, I’ll offer it, and if I spot something you two overlook, I’ll say something.  Other than that, I’m here at your leisure.  So.”  He leaned forward, flashing his most mischievous grin.  “Tell me about this haunting…”

…

The next several weeks passed in a blur of hunts, strained mealtime chats, and suspicion that never quite dissipated despite both Sam and Dean calling every hunter or researcher they knew for information on Frey.  One haunted/possessed truck and a booty-call for Dean later, and they’d tapped out all of their resources short of their dad who _still_ wasn’t picking up the damn phone.

Everyone said the same thing: dangerous, deadly, but his word was solid-gold and his ability to back someone up in a pinch even more valuable.

Still, they couldn’t deny that there was a cloud of unease that covered them whenever they saw the massive suburban in the Impala’s rearview mirror or locked gazes with bright green eyes.

 _Someone_ had bought Frey’s contract – which implied all sorts of things about Frey that they didn’t want to contemplate – and used it to have him shadowing and protecting the two of them.

And this was the same _someone_ who had previously convinced him – somehow, since they didn’t believe Frey agreed from the goodness of his heart – to take over protecting Boston from “what goes bump in the night” as the man-creature-thing put it himself.

Their paranoia was in no way lessened by their inability to pin down just what _exactly_ Frey _was_.

They knew what he _wasn’t_ having tested him in every way they knew, Frey wasn’t a demon, werewolf, shapeshifter, or anything else they came up with and were able to test for.

All in all, _something_ would have to give.

And in the end it did.

It only nearly cost both of their lives in the process.

A chain of events which began with Sam receiving a vision of a murder being made to look like a suicide.

…

 


End file.
